My battle campaigns

The summer's campaign ended in September when we all retreated from the battlefield. I had scored a victory in the last skirmish, but I know my enemy. He will be plotting all winter, and there are bound to be new tactics on display next spring.

I am a seasoned warrior, not without my tricks. But a seasoned warrior has to respect his enemy. You cannot take anything for granted.

The last such campaign I fought was a 20 year affair. It started innocently enough, when I moved to WashingtonDC. My house backed up to a large park full of oak trees. The soldiers looked just like little men sat up in a tree like this big bushy tail and they gathered the acorns. You could see them scurrying all around industriously burying food for the winter and in the spring when they set out to replenish their armies with baby squirrels they were really delightful to watch as they chased one another all around the trees and along the telephone poles and lines. I thought they were adorable.

But life took a serious turn. I got married, we move to the suburbs, and my wife developed a passion for feeding the birds. They were beautiful forest birds -- purple Martins, nuthatches, chickadees, and finches. I do not know why she assumed they could not feed themselves -- I had rapidly learned not to engage women in such conversations, because it is a losing proposition.

We bought a bird feeder and nailed it to a convenient tree. The birds loved it --- but so did the squirrels. Those beautiful songbirds would come when we first filled it, but the squirrels quickly took over. I estimate the squirrels got 950 gm out of every kilogram.

'

We moved the feeder to the side of the house, about 2 meters off the ground. No luck. We could no longer see the birds as well, but the squirrels did just fine. I was impressed by their intelligence and energy. They would run full-speed at the house and dash up the six feet to the feeder, knock the seed to the ground and gorge.

So we hung it from a rope. No luck there – squirrels are natural acrobats. Finally we hung it from a long and very skinny wire, too small for their squirrelly hands to wrap around. We had peace for a couple of days. We could also see the birds, because it was in the very center of the garden. Then they did the incredible! They launched themselves from a treetop three meters or more and three meters above the feeder, and landed on the feeder. They hung upside down on the feeder and shook it until it was empty, then jumped to the ground and gobbled it up.

What did I learn? Pick your battles, and never choose an enemy with more to gain than you have to lose. Or an enemy who is smarter than you.

I have fought other campaigns against animals large and small. Trying to get rid of cockroaches in WashingtonD.C. Getting rid of mice in a house where the cat invited mice for amusement, then lost interest before she ate them. Trying to get fresh air in summer in Kyiv without also getting bitten by hundreds of komar.

I had been told about pigeons. There are jokes about them. But, like with the squirrels, I was taken in.

I took my breakfast at the Videnchski Bulochki. They have five tables on the sidewalk. Pushkinskaya is a fairly quiet street, only one lane of traffic not moving too fast. I usually order a chocolate croissant and some coffee.

I noticed that the pigeons did a good job of cleaning up our crumbs. They were under every empty table, and the braver pigeons would go under the tables where customers were eating, to catch things that they fell.

They would also clean up the plates as diners left. The croissant in particular leave a lot of flakes. Not enough for the people to bother with, but very interesting to the pigeons. Two or three of them would come just as people rose to leave. They would squabble with each other and shoulder aside the sparrows who came to share the feast.

I found it cute to watch. A couple of times I would put my empty plate on another table just to let the pigeons entertain me as I read my paper. I should not have encouraged them.

It was not long before they came and perched on the backs of the empty chairs at my table, kind of like vultures waiting for their shot at a carcass. I found out a little bit disquieting. Sometimes they would poop on the chairs. That was not a problem if I was already sitting down, but it is not a habit you want to encourage in pigeons, because it means that you have to look very carefully before sitting down.

One bold fellow was not content to wait. He would hop right on my table and grabbed what he could off of an empty plate. Or maybe not even empty! The villain would take what he could steal. Pigeons are kind of like cats -- each one has somewhat individual markings. I got to know this guy by the dark spot on his head, and by his attitude.

I started shooing him away when he came to perch close to my table. I would wave my arms at him. Sometimes he would flap his wings and jump away a little bit. However, he quickly learned that if I were on the other side of the table it was safe to ignore me. I couldn't reach him. He would just sit there with a pigeon look of contempt and wait for me to vent my anger in vain.

So, safe in his ambuscade, he would wait for my attention to turn to what I was reading, or people at the other tables, and he would make a dash for my food. A few times he got it.

I reacted by making an ambuscade of my own. I would look away, as if I were not guarding my food. He would fly down to make a pass and I would shoot my hand out to grab him. I came within centimeters of touching him a few times. I do not know if I could have caught him. If I did that certainly would have been a mess, with pigeon poop everywhere. It is better just to convince him that I was a person not to be messed with.

He seemed to realize that this game had its limits. He probably looked like a hero to the other pigeons, whereas I'll just look eccentric to the other diners. I could not keep it up for very long without looking like an idiot. Time is always on the side of the guerrillas. I had to come up with something better.

I reached way back into childhood for my next tactic. I'll bet you guys childhood is too recent to know how to do this. I wrapped rubber bands around my fingers like this and sat with my hand in my lap. As he perched on top of the chair opposite me, confident he was beyond my reach, wham! A rubber band hit him in the chest. He didn't know where it came from. He jumped. The next time he came back it was the same thing.

I am sure he does not know where they come from. Pigeons eyes do not work like ours do. They don't have depth perception and they see motion differently. But I am sure that he associates the pinging on his chest with me sitting in the chair.

The bakery is going to open up the sidewalk in the next month. I will be back and we'll see what happens. My position is not without risk. Even as subtle as a rubber band is compared with swing my fist at the bird, I expect that other diners will raise their eyebrows at my behavior. My adversary may find some other direction from which to attack. It will be interesting to pursue the battle. If I win I will write a book, just like Caesar: "I came, I saw, I conquered." Do not place an advance order.